Critical husband: The secret of
frozen sperm
I’m back. Back to the day my husband was
dying.
The nerve of him.
I didn’t waste a second. I hit up that private
fertility clinic so fast it’d make your head
spin.
I swapped out his pathetic, frozen sperm
sample faster than he could say “I love you.”
The hospital called, all official, wanting me to
ID the body.
I played the grieving widow.
I took his soon–to–be–stiff hand and pressed
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his print onto the stock transfer papers. That
was my company too, damn it.
The funeral was almost over. The vultures
were circling, the casseroles were drying out.
Then she showed up, his precious little
Snowflake with her fancy lawyer and his
bullshit will.
1
The doctor gave the death rattle speech.
Terminal. No hope.
Like some twisted theater performance, the
family shuffled in to say their goodbyes.
When his parents finally stumbled out,
blubbering like babies, that snake of a
personal assistant, Kevin Chase, slammed the
door in my face.
“Mrs. Evans, Kevin said he couldn’t bear for
you to see him like this. He wants you to
remember him how he was.”
Oh, really?
My mother–in–law, wiping her crocodile tears,
patted my arm. “Honey, we know how much
you two loved each other. Kevin’s just trying
to protect you. You should listen to him.”
My father–in–law, all bluster and ego, chimed
- in. “It’s his dying wish. Don’t be difficult.”
I stared at that closed door, a chill snaking
down my spine.
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How could I have been so blind? All those
years of “I love you’s” and public displays of
affection, and he was nothing but a damn liar.
“Couldn’t bear it?” He just didn’t want me
around when his precious little Snow White,
Stacey Moore, flew back into the country to
hear his dying words.
Last time, I bought his act hook, line, and
sinker. I knelt outside that room like a
pathetic fool, begging to see him one last
time.
Five goddamn hours on my knees. My legs were numb by the time his heart flatlined.
That door never opened.
I swallowed my grief, pasted on a brave face,
and planned his damn funeral.
And then she strolled in, Miss Stacey Perfect,
with her perfectly coiffed hair and her
perfectly timed will.
Turns out, my dearly departed husband had
stashed away some frozen sperm at a private
clinic.
And guess who was designated as the only
person allowed to use it?
Oh, and all his assets? The company stock?
All going to his future little darling.
Before I could even process the betrayal, his
parents were all over me like white on rice,
screaming about me robbing them of a
grandchild.
“Five years of marriage and you couldn’t pop
out a single heir? You’re trying to wipe out
the Evans line!”
“We welcomed you into this family! If you try
to stop Stacey from having that baby, I swear
to God, I’ll throw myself on the casket!”
The hypocrisy was suffocating.
He was the one who didn’t want kids. I even
poked holes in the damn condoms, I already
had his kid in my belly, a little legacy for the
family.
But my frantic_explanations were drowned out
by the chorus of accusations.
“After everything Kevin did for you, the least
you could have done was give him a family.”
“You must have been a real ball–buster at
home. He probably felt trapped.”
“You’re selfish! You should be the one in that
box!”
The family, drunk on outrage, basically
chased me out of the funeral.
I stumbled home in a daze and got nailed by a
damn car.
As I lay there bleeding out, I saw her. Stacey
Moore, sitting in the other car, a cold smile
twisting her lips.
I swear I heard her say it. “Only I can have his
child. You… are not worthy.”
Then it hit me Stacey board what Leoid
Then it hit me. Stacey heard what I said.
She was scared that my baby would steal her
inheritance, so she sent me to meet my
maker.
But now, I’m back. Back to that fateful day.
And I’m going to rewrite this whole damn
story. I’m going to take back everything that’s
mine.
